Letters to My Brother
by ghostystarr59
Summary: Arthur Kirkland is an English doctor serving in the midst of WWII. He never intended to brave the battles themselves, but a dying soldier leaves one last request, and Arthur is forced to come with terms with the truths of war and strength that he had previously avoided. WWII AU. USUK. Rating may change later, maybe?
1. Six Hundred and Thirty Two

**_Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage._**

**_–Lao Tzu_**

**_Chapter One_**

_Friday November 13, 1942_

Six-hundred and thirty-two.

That was how many steps it took for Arthur Kirkland to walk from his designated living quarters to the hospital in the center of the military base that he had called home for the past two months. He had long grown used to the muddy paths that had been created after hundreds of boots trampled down the grass. The sky was always a persistent grey, thick with the promise of a downpour. The strange thing was that it never rained.

There would be a light drizzle here and there, perhaps a drop would strike his cheek every now and again, but it never downright _rained_. The threat of a storm loomed over their heads every day, but it never came. Instead, it just became darker and darker.

It was rather fitting for the situation Arthur was in, or so he thought to himself. He always considered himself a rather unlucky person.

_The fourth of five sons_. The pressure for him to succeed had been monumental to say the very least. Arthur was lucky that his father even remembered his name after the mess of failures he had gotten himself into.

_The laughing stock of Cambridge Medicinal School_. It really wasn't that great of a feat that he had even gotten into Cambridge. He was the seventh Kirkland to do so. He hadn't done as well as his brothers and hadn't played a single sport—much unlike the rest of his family. He mostly stayed in his dormitory and read to himself, studied, and drank tea.

_The one not wearing a soldier's uniform_. Arthur was terrified of warfare. The thought of shooting someone, or being shot at, simply made him feel faint. He wasn't a soldier, plain and simple. Did that stop the rest of his brothers from enlisting the first chance they got?

No way. The Kirkland boys, save one, were out there at that very moment, fighting against German Nazis alongside Americans and Frenchmen and Russians and Chinamen.

But not Arthur.

He had just graduated from Cambridge four months ago, obtaining his medical degree at twenty-three years old. He decided to support the war from a different angle. He volunteered on a whim at a military hospital. He couldn't fight but he could still help.

He was _not_ useless.

But, as he made his six-hundred and thirtieth step, he couldn't help but let out a sigh against the chilled, gloomy air. November's weather foretold a harsh winter. Arthur knew better than to hope that this dreadful war would be over before the seasons changed, but he wasn't looking forward to taking this trek through thick snow and sharp wind. He quickly chastised himself for thinking such thoughts. He had it easy compared to the ones that were out there, right now, fighting.

Taking a deep breath, Arthur reached out and opened the door and took the last two steps of his journey. He was met by an all too familiar bustling scene of doctors and nurses rushing from room to room. Ducking into the small room doctors used to keep their coats, Arthur shed his warm grey coat in favor of a crisp white one.

"Looking serious as ever, Arthur," came a soft voice from behind him.

Turning, Arthur spotted a man wearing a dark green soldier uniform and a small, shy smile. He had long blonde hair with a curl dancing in front of his bespectacled violet eyes. "And you look bloody miserable, Matthew," Arthur greeted, noting the dark shadows underneath the soldier's eyes.

Matthew was one of the few people Arthur could stand around this place. Most of the other people stationed there considered Arthur to be nothing but an inexperienced child and the soldiers on the base either ignored him or watched him a little _too_ closely. But, Matthew seemed to be just as out of place as Arthur was. He was a Canadian soldier currently on leave at the base. He had been in the middle of his obtaining his medical degree whenever the war started and was drafted. Since he had some medical knowledge, he volunteered at the hospital often and helped in any way he knew how. Matthew was rather soft-spoken and people tended to forget he even worked on the base at all. But, after a few months of striking up small conversations, Arthur found that he enjoyed his company.

"I've been up all night." Matthew stifled a yawn behind his hand. "I'm still not used to these military hours."

Arthur chuckled. "I don't think anyone is." Then he noticed Matthew holding a small parcel. "What's that?" he asked curiously.

Matthew looked down at the package in his hands fondly. "Oh, this? I stopped by the mail room this morning and found it waiting for me. I have no idea what it is." He shrugged at Arthur, who simply shrugged back at him, and began to tear off the paper unceremoniously. He held up a few pages of what looked like a long, detailed letter. "It's from my brother!" Matthew exclaimed happily after examining a few lines.

Arthur vaguely remembered hearing about Matthew's brother during one of their talks. He also remembered Matthew telling him that his brother was…interesting. "Oh, yes. Albert, right?"

"Alfred," Matthew corrected, eyes dancing down the letter. Suddenly, his amethyst eyes lit up in excitement. "He's coming to the base!"

"He's a soldier as well?"

Matthew nodded. "He enlisted the moment he heard that there was a war. My brother has always been pretty impulsive. He says he'll be visiting the base on the thirteenth."

Arthur mentally checked the date. "Hold on…that's today."

Matthew gaped up at him. "Pardon?"

"Yes. Today is Friday the thirteenth," Arthur realized with a start. He had always been rather superstitious. How had he not realized sooner?

"He could already be here, then!" Matthew gasped, talking louder than Arthur had ever heard him.

"I suppose…" Arthur blinked, taken aback by the sudden change in Matthew's behavior.

"I'll have to find him as soon as possible…" Matthew sighed. "Hopefully he doesn't get into _too_ much trouble while I'm not there."

"You make it sound like your brother is a criminal."

"Not a criminal…just impulsive!"

"I see." Arthur sighed, sincerely hoping he wouldn't have to meet Matthew's brother.

"Arthur! You're free tonight, right?" Matthew's eyes twinkled.

_Oh no…_

"Ah…actually I had plans…" he lied.

Matthew glared disbelievingly at him. "Why don't you come for a few drinks with Alfred and me? My treat."

"Matthew, I don't think that I…" he trailed off when he spotted Matthew's disappointed face. His eyes shone with the same caliber of a kicked puppy's. Something about that expression on his face reminded him despairingly of his younger brother. Arthur sighed and found himself agreeing to join them in a few drinks.

Matthew brightened up at once. "All right! Eight o'clock?"

Arthur sighed, thrusting his arm into the sleeve of his white doctor's coat as he walked out of the room curtly. "Yes, yes. I'll be there."

"You'd better! Last time I asked you to go you never showed."

Arthur gritted his teeth. "Because you asked that _frog_ to go! I can't stand him while he's sober. How the bloody hell would I refrain from driving my fist right into his cheese-loving nose when he's drunk?"

Matthew laughed. For some reason, Arthur's temper always seemed funny to Matthew. No matter how harsh or rude his comments became, Matthew just seemed to think he was joking. "Just don't forget this time!" He smiled gently.

Arthur softened. "I won't."

"Is that a gentleman's promise?" Matthew asked teasingly.

Arthur glared but didn't make any further condescending remarks. "A gentleman's promise," he confirmed and Matthew laughed before following him out of the room.

The hospital was bustling. A new batch of injured soldiers had arrived the previous day, and everyone involved in the medical field had their hands overfilled with the amount of care that needed to be dealt to the patients.

"This is horrible…" Matthew whispered as they entered the large wing that housed over one hundred soldiers. Beds were lined in neat long rows, spanning down the entire length of the extensive room. Each and every bed was currently full, the occupant's condition varying with each face. Some men looked relatively unscathed while they slept, shuddering from time to time under the weight of their horror-filled dreams, while others showed more bandages than skin. Those ones remained still.

Arthur felt a twinge of nausea strike him. He had thought he had been prepared all those months ago when he had so willingly volunteered to care for the ones selflessly fighting at all hours of the day. But, when he arrived, he soon realized that there had been nothing anyone could have done to have prepared himself or herself for the explicit gore that could be witnessed behind the thick white curtains of a surgery room. Even now, some nine weeks later, Arthur still could not suppress the stomach-churning chill that shook up his nerves. As he would pass through the rows, tending to those that called for him as he went, it felt like needles were shooting up his legs with every step, every breath.

He didn't back away, however. He never left one soldier unattended to. He made sure to do his very best for them, even if it was only giving them a glass of water or a comforting word.

It was the best he could do.

Matthew, on the other hand, was on his way to the front lines of the war. He had yet to experience what the soldiers that were currently inept had experienced. Arthur could see the fear creeping into the young soldier's eyes. "Perhaps it's best you find that brother of yours, Matthew," Arthur said, placing a hand on Matthew's shoulder. "If what you have told me is even half true, the security of this base could be severely impaired."

The corners of Matthew's mouth twitched upward. "Thanks, Arthur," he mumbled, grateful for the excuse Arthur had offered him. "And you're right. I'm going to go find Al, but don't forget about drinks later, got it?"

"Got it," Arthur sighed. "Now shoo."

Matthew gave him one last thankful smile and backed away a few steps before turning and nearly running away altogether. Arthur watched him go, not entirely blaming the Canadian for hightailing it out of the hospital so quickly.

But, Arthur was obligated to be there, and there was where he would be.

It was the best he could do, after all.

At roughly eight o'clock that night, Arthur found himself trying to work up a good enough excuse to get out of getting drinks with Matthew and his brother. He could say that something came up at the hospital, a particular soldier needed attention, but he felt badly about lying to the Canadian. Besides, he did enjoy free drinks.

He let out a long sigh as he looked up at the sign for the pub just off base. He inwardly cringed. His feet brought him here mechanically while his mind flopped back and forth between wanting to go inside and wanting to turn around and go home. But, before he knew it, he was already entering.

The noise greeted him from the instant he opened the door. Arthur had to admit that he missed the nights he would spend with his friends in the pubs of London. It felt like an eternity ago.

Looking around at the quaint, but lively, little pub, Arthur found it filled with new occupants. Several soldiers Arthur didn't recognize—Americans, by the looks of them—were standing about the tables, chatting loudly and laughing even louder. But, Arthur's eyes were instantly drawn to one man standing on top of the bar, holding up a large pint of beer and singing loudly to a group of cheering lads that was singing along in different tunes, making a drunken clash of noise.

Arthur's mouth dropped open at the sight of the man. He had blonde hair and bespectacled eyes. He looked just like… "M-Matthew?!" Arthur stammered. He was absolutely unable to believe that the usually so shy and so polite Canadian would do such a thing.

"Arthur!" a familiar voice called and Arthur turned in its direction. Further down the bar sat Matthew, who was laughing and waving.

Relieved and a bit confused, Arthur went over to join him, sliding into the empty seat beside him. "You made it in time to see the show!" Matthew laughed, clapping Arthur on the shoulder before ordering him a drink.

"Sh-show?" Arthur repeated, looking back up at the Matthew's doppelganger dancing on the bar. "Is…is that your brother, then?"

Matthew grimaced. "Yeah. That's Alfred."

"OI! GET OFF MY BAR!" the bartender snapped angrily at Alfred, whose demeanor changed at once, becoming apologetic and a bit mocking, but nonetheless climbing off of the bar. He was rewarded a loud amount of applause by his comrades. Alfred did a sort of bow before making his way to his brother.

Arthur felt his face growing hot the moment he realized that Alfred approached them. "Mattie!" Alfred smiled. His cheeks were rosy from his presumably rather sizable intake of alcohol. "Who's your friend?"

"Oh, Alfred, this is my friend, Arthur Kirkland. Arthur, this is my brother, Alfred," Matthew introduced politely.

"The _hero_!" Alfred corrected his brother haughtily.

Arthur cleared his throat and extended his hand. He would play nice, for now. "It's nice to meet you, Alfred."

It was easier to see the distinction between the two brothers now that they were side by side. Alfred's eyes were a bright, crystal blue and wide with an ambitious and excitable charm. His face seemed frozen in that goofy grin he had on. His hair was shorter than Matthew's and a rebellious piece stuck out from the rest. It struck Arthur as odd that Alfred seemed to be wearing an American soldier's uniform.

"Hi there, Arthur!" Alfred's cheery voice replied as he shook Arthur's hand. "Mattie's told me a bit about you. You're the doctor, right?"

Arthur nodded, taking note of Alfred's distinctive American accent. "Yes, that's right. Though, I am still rather new to everything."

"Please, Arthur, weren't you near the top of your class at Cambridge?" Matthew asked, taking a sip of his beer.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "That means nothing. Experience is the real teacher."

Matthew thought for a moment and nodded. Alfred didn't seem to be listening anymore. His wide eyes were watching Arthur curiously, carefully. Arthur glared at him. He had only just met Matthew's twin brother two minutes ago, and he decided that that was two minutes too many spent in his company.

"Hey, Mattie, bet I can chug this whole pint in one go?" he grinned childishly.

Matthew sighed. "I think you've had enough already, Al…"

Arthur's lips twisted into a smile. "Yes, yes, you wouldn't want to embarrass yourself in front of your brother, now, would you?"

Matthew frowned, looking back and forth between Arthur and Alfred, who were now glaring competitively at each other. "Like an old man like you could out drink me!" Alfred smiled.

"O-old man?!" Arthur cried indignantly. "I'm only twenty-three, you yank!"

Alfred's eyes widened slightly at that. "Really? You're…twenty-three?" Arthur could practically see him counting numbers in his head. "That's four years…"

"What are you mumbling about?" Arthur snapped.

Alfred jumped, as if being startled out of his thoughts, and quickly put on a wide grin again. "All right! Let's have a contest!"

"Contest?" Arthur repeated.

"Al…" Matthew's soft voice groaned.

"Who can drink more? The British doctor or the American hero? I think the answer is pretty obvious, actually."

Arthur scowled, feeling his distaste for the American grown with each grin Alfred threw at him. Honestly, what was with that bloody smile? He acted like Arthur and he were old friends. "I am _not_ going to engage in an activity so childish and stupid!" He crossed his arms and stuck his nose in the air.

Alfred only seemed to think it was funny. He laughed loudly, obnoxiously. "I knew it! You're really a lightweight, aren't ya?"

Arthur gritted his teeth. He was most certainly _not_ a lightweight! "I am most certainly _not_ a lightweight!" he voiced harshly at Alfred, whose smile only widened. "I'll show you! I accept your challenge."

Matthew covered his eyes with his hand. "Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to introduce you after all…"

The first few shots went down fine. Arthur didn't even feel the slightest bit tipsy until the eighth one. After that, his sense of time went out the window. He didn't know how many times he picked up a full glass and slammed it back down onto the bar, empty. Alfred seemed to match his speed perfectly, somehow managing to look more sober than earlier.

He glanced woozily at the American soldier beside him, who was already rather sloshed when the two started this absurd contest in the first place. Arthur had to narrow his eyes to focus, as suddenly he was seeing double of that smiling face.

"You look like you've reached your limit," a voice carried over to him. It took him a few minutes to identify it as the bartender's. "I'm cutting you off."

Arthur was too wasted to argue. He just groaned and let his head fall flat against the bar and promptly took a little nap.

When he opened his eyes next, he realized he was being carried. The air around him was sharp and cold but something warm was pressed up against him. He let his eyes close again and moved into the warmth, thankful for its presence and trying to ignore the telltale throbs of a headache.

"Sorry about him," a familiar light voice was laughing. Matthew? "I've never seen him down so much alcohol in my life!"

He felt something vibrate against his ear as he heard a harmonious laugh strike out against the cold. "I was actually pretty impressed. For a little guy, he sure can party!"

Matthew snorted. "He's going to be very cranky tomorrow." A pause. "Oh, no, I forgot my wallet back at the bar. I have to go back and get it."

"That's fine. I'll make sure he gets home. He lives on base, right?"

"Yeah. Just a few blocks up. Second door on the left of the third floor. He hides the key in between the loose paneling around his door."

"All right. See you later, Mattie!"

Suddenly, Arthur became very, _very_ aware of two arms around him. He realized he was being carried. And by—oh bullocks!

He snapped awake, his previous peaceful feeling split and vanished. He shot up in Alfred's arms, startling the American thoroughly. Arthur placed two defiant hands on Alfred's shoulders, straightening up with the full intent of getting to his feet and out of those strong, warm arms until he found himself looking straight into the blue irises of the American soldier.

Alfred was staring back at him with an almost panicked expression. Arthur felt his face heat up. "Um…hi…" Alfred muttered embarrassedly and Arthur snapped back to himself. He struggled until Alfred dropped his arms, releasing him, only Arthur lost his balance and fell straight to the ground.

"Ah!" Alfred squeaked and bent down at once to help him up. "I'm sorry! Are you okay, buddy?"

"I…am not your 'buddy'," Arthur snapped angrily, swatting Alfred's offered hand away and stumbling to his feet. He wiped some dirt off of his pants. "I don't even know you!"

"I'm Alfred F. Jones," he said, blinking as if _everyone_ in the world should have known. "We met at the bar earlier, or are you so drunk you don't remember that?"

"Sh-shut up!" Arthur growled. "I am NOT that drunk, you twit! I can very well find my own way home, thank you very much!" he hissed and spun around on his heels, almost slipping, before marching in the direction of his barracks. He had thought he had done a good enough job of looking sober, but Alfred's laughter told him otherwise.

"You're walking all over the place!" he chuckled. "Here, you're wasted. Just hold onto my arm."

Arthur glared at him and crossed his arms. "And what makes you think I need your help?" he grumbled before walking straight into a lamppost. Alfred's incessant laughter grew louder, which did nothing for his growing headache.

Alfred must have noticed Arthur's continual increase of bitterness. He covered his mouth. "S-sorry!" he said in between stolen giggles. "I'm not laughing at you, I promise! That was just…really funny! Here," he said, composing himself and holding out his hand again, "just let me help you before you really hurt yourself."

Arthur glared at the open hand and huffed. His head was spinning a mile a minute and his feet were having a hard time keeping up. He must have downed more alcohol than he had originally thought. "If it helps your conscience…" he muttered stubbornly, cheeks turning a pink color that had nothing to do with either the alcohol or the cold, just his injured pride.

Alfred grinned and set a steady hand on Arthur's shoulder, keeping a steady pressure on it to prevent him from falling over or stumbling out of reach. "Are you _always_ this loud?" Arthur groaned, holding his pounding head.

Alfred blinked. "But I wasn't even saying anything!"

"No, but that grin of yours," he gritted his teeth, "is loud enough. I can practically hear you thinking."

"You're drunk!" Alfred laughed, ruffling Arthur's hair. Arthur felt a stab of anger. Really, the American should be _damn_ thankful that Arthur was…a little drunk…otherwise he would have introduced that dimwitted grin to the front of his boot!

He nudged away, not making it very far before Alfred's hand caught him. "Come off it," Arthur grumbled irritably. He didn't even _know_ this man other than the fact that he was Matthew's brother. He didn't know anything about him or what sort of person he was, but he had no choice but to practically _lean_ on him and rely on him to get safely back to his home. No, his barracks. He would _not_ refer to that small, sparse, grey room as his home.

"Are _you_ always this grumpy?" Alfred asked in an amused tone. "Or are you just like that when you lose a challenge?"

"I did not bloody lose!" Arthur protested. "And I am NOT grumpy! You just irritate me!"

"How do I irritate you?"

"ALL Americans irritate me."

"And why is that?"

"They're loud. And annoying. And act like they own the whole damn world!"

"Funny, I kinda always thought that about Englishmen."

Arthur only answered with a glare.

"Is this you?" Alfred asked, not at all looking affected at all by Arthur's sour mood as he pointed up to a four story building, plain and white, ahead.

Arthur nodded stiffly and the two walked on in silence. Arthur clearly did not want to indulge in any more conversation, as he found that he rather disliked Alfred and wondered how he could possibly be related to someone as mannerly and kindhearted as Matthew. "So, you're a doctor?" Alfred's impossibly bright voice asked him.

Arthur ignored the urge to knock him to his feet and took a deep, steadying breath before answering. "Yes. I am. And?"

Alfred shrugged. "I think that's pretty great! To be able to help people out like that…"

Arthur huffed. What _would_ have been pretty great was if Arthur was wearing a uniform rather similar to Alfred's or Matthew's. If _he_ had enlisted like they had, had decided to fight like they had, had been brave like they had…

Instead, Arthur had chickened out and shoved his medical degree in the enlisters' faces, just so he wouldn't be thrust into the warzone under the heavy fire of enemy armies' guns. Instead of killing people, he saved them. At least that's what he liked to believe.

Really, he was just saving himself.

And he hated that.

He hated how weak he was.

"Just shut up!" Arthur whispered tautly with more venom than he meant to. Alfred flinched, as if Arthur had physically struck him, and fell silent. And Arthur suddenly felt a bit worse than before…

They finished the walk in an uncomfortable, heavy silence. Once they got to the barracks, Arthur opened the door and turned to face Alfred. "I can manage to get to my room on my own. Good night." With that, he promptly slammed the door closed on the surprised American's face and retreated up the stairs.

He had to tell Matthew that he wouldn't be joining him for drinks until _after_ that annoying brother of his departed.

...

By the time Arthur managed to crawl to work the next morning—honestly, even with all these clouds it _still_ managed to be too bright—he was already ten minutes late. He didn't receive any lectures or scolding, however. Everyone was

too busy to even notice that Arthur had been late. Luckily, when he had woken up he wasn't nearly as hung-over as he thought he'd be. But, whenever he thought about the previous night, and moreover the annoying American soldier he had unwillingly met, a headache rushed up to bid him good morning.

He got ready quickly, pulling on his white coat as he dashed to wherever he was needed and casting the memory of last night far and away.

He spent the next few hours stitching up wounds that had reopened, treating nasty burns that nearly made him let out whimper, and examining chart after chart of every patient under his care. By four o'clock, he was utterly exhausted and sitting in the break room, mulling over a steaming cup of coffee while trying to mentally prepare himself for four more hours of this.

He allowed his eyes to flutter shut for a few minutes, enjoying the peacefulness of the moment. He almost even drifted off into a beautiful sleep when he heard a voice right beside his ear shout, "ARTHUR!"

Arthur jumped out of his skin, spilling his coffee onto his lap in the process. He shouted out and heard a fit of loud, annoying laughter. A sinking feeling began to grow in the pit of his stomach. He turned with the expression a bear would wear after being disturbed during hibernation to see Alfred Jones, Matthew's incessantly bothersome twin, laughing cheerfully at him. "Aw, man! You should have seen your face!"

Anger as hot as the coffee now burning through his trousers boiled in his veins. "What the bloody hell do you think you are doing here?!" he shouted furiously, cheeks flaring.

Alfred's laughter died down, but the infuriating grin was still there. "Still grumpy, I see!"

Arthur clenched his jaw. "Of course I'm ruddy grumpy! You made me spill hot coffee on myself!" He stomped over to grab a wet towel and try to clean himself up.

"Well, you shouldn't be taking a nap during your break," Alfred stated, "no matter how hung over you are."

Arthur was seething at that point. "Why-why you!" he growled. "Why are you even here?"

Alfred's grin turned a little sheepish. "Ah, well, yeah…the thing is…earlier, a bunch of the boys and I were playing some football and, well…" He held up a hand and Arthur saw a nasty gash in the soldier's hand.

Arthur sighed. "You've got to be kidding me! What are you doing walking around with a wound like that?"

Alfred looked embarrassed. "Well, I walked in to find some help but everyone was busy and there wasn't any nurses in the front, so I started looking around and I spotted you so…"

Arthur sighed and held out his hand. "Let me see it." The acid in his voice was still there, so Alfred hesitated in moving for a few moments before Arthur shot him an impatient look. "Now."

"R-right!" Alfred snapped to attention and inched toward Arthur, suddenly looking like a shy little kid. Once he was close enough, he raised his hand slightly but Arthur reached down and grabbed his wrist not-too-gently and examined the wound closely.

"How did you pull this one off?" Arthur asked, exacerbated, as he thoroughly cleaned the wound over the sink.

Alfred laughed nervously. "Aha…I went to tackle one of the guys and I cut my hand on a rock."

"Tackle?" Arthur repeated.

"Yeah, we were playing football!"

"You were playing…ah, you mean American football."

Alfred looked affronted. "What else would I be talking about?"

Arthur waved his hand dismissively. "Nothing. Anyways, you're going to need stitches. Let me get my needle."

"Y-you mean…you're going to do it?"

Arthur glared at him. "Is that a problem?"

Arthur thought he saw Alfred gulp before slipping back into a nervous version of his boisterous personality. "N-no! Of course not! I…I just, um…"

"Just what?" Arthur asked absentmindedly as he opened a kit of needle and thread, observing how Alfred's eyes seemed to bulge at the sight of it. Suddenly it clicked as to what Alfred was so afraid of.

A smirk appeared on his lips. "What's wrong, soldier?" he taunted. "Big hero like you, afraid of a needle?"

"M-me? Afraid?" Alfred let out a loud, tremulous laugh. "N-no!"

Oh, this was just too rich! Arthur couldn't help the smile on his face. "Well, don't worry. I've done dozens of stitchings and almost all of them have survived!"

"A-almost…" Alfred choked out.

Arthur nodded. "Now, let me see your hand." Alfred didn't move. "Unless, of course, you want it to get bloody infected and have to have it amputated before you die of some horrid bacterial disease. I don't care either way."

Alfred frowned and, looking very much like a kicked puppy, scooted closer to Arthur and held up his injured hand, placing it on the table for Arthur to see more clearly. "This will hurt a little…" Arthur said before getting to work.

Alfred gasped and tensed, but didn't make any other indications that he was in pain. Still, Arthur tried to be as gentle and neat with his movements as possible so as not to cause him any. He wasn't sure why, but he seemed to be rather unwilling to put the American in any actual harm.

"So…why did you become a doctor?" Alfred asked lightly, hopefully.

Arthur's eyes narrowed at him. "Why did you become a soldier?"

"To stop the bad guys!" Alfred blinked at him as if saying _why else?! _"I'm the hero, after all!"

Arthur sighed at his naïve enthusiasm. "Yes, yes. Of course you did. I suppose the better question would be 'why do you want to be the hero?'"

"Well, someone has to be. Why not me?"

Something in Arthur's chest tightened. He didn't answer, pretending to be too absorbed in stitching up Alfred's hand, when the soldier continued on. Why was Alfred so insistent on making conversation with him? "You still haven't answered my question."

"Oh?" was all Arthur said.

"Yeah. So, why are you a doctor?" Alfred's eyes never left Arthur's.

"I…why does it bloody matter?" Arthur cried, embarrassed and accidentally, or perhaps not, jabbing Alfred's hand sharply with the needle.

"Ow!" Alfred cried, trying to retract his hand but Arthur held it down. "Are you a surgeon or a butcher?!"

"Neither," Arthur mumbled. "Now stay still!"

Alfred pouted but didn't move again. "So…" he trailed off.

Arthur sighed. "What?"

"Do you at least _like_ being a doctor?"

Arthur's lips pressed into a hard line. "It has its perks."

"Like saving people?"

"Yes. There's that."

"I think it's pretty amazing!" Alfred lit up. "You have to be really smart to be a doctor. I used to want to be one, but I could never learn all the different names of the body parts or anything."

"Yes, well, it's certainly not something to take lightly…" Arthur replied, finishing off the stitches and looked at Alfred as he toyed with a stethoscope. It seemed that that boy could _only_ take something lightly, which worried Arthur when he thought of the dangerous path the American was on now. Or…he was rather bloody annoyed!

"Is that why you became a doctor?" Alfred asked.

Arthur couldn't look him in the eye. "My reasons run…a bit deeper than that."

"Saving lives?"

_Always thinking like a hero, _Arthur thought dryly. "I'm afraid my reasons are a little more selfish…"

"Then why…?"

"Will you just drop it subject, Alfred!"

Alfred's eyes widened before they dropped altogether. "Sorry. You don't have to tell me why. I was just curious."

Arthur softened at that pitiful expression on Alfred's face. He took a deep breath, swallowed his pride, and said through his teeth, "N-no. _I'm_ sorry. I…I mean for s-snapping at you."

Alfred's wild grin was back and Arthur wasn't sure whether to be relieved or regretful.

"Say, I know how you can make it up to me!" He winked.

"_Excuse_ me?" Arthur blinked. Who ever said anything about "making it up to him"? Arthur did NOT like that look in his eyes.

"Dinner!"

Arthur's eyes sharpened. "Y-you want me to go to dinner with you?"

Alfred nodded like an excited child. Arthur tossed his nose in the air. "I decline." And Alfred was back to a pitiful puppy again. Arthur gritted his teeth. "Pout all you want."

"Ah!" he whined. "But Arthur! I have no one to go with!"

"So?" Arthur sighed. "You're a grown man, aren't you? Besides, where's Matthew? Or your American mates?"

"Mattie's in town. Said he had something important to do. And all my friends went out with a group of girls for the night."

Arthur raised a skeptic eyebrow. "Again, I ask, why aren't you with them? That sounds like a rather good time for a bunch of kids like you." He said it a little meaner than he'd liked and felt a pang of guilt at Alfred's hurt look.

"I'm not a kid!" he huffed defiantly. "But, anyways, I guess I'm not really the kind of guy to go with a bunch of random girls."

"You have a girlfriend waiting for you in America?" Arthur inquired. He wasn't really curious. He could care less. So why did he even ask?

Alfred rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand. "Me? Nah! I don't have a girl or anything like that. What about you? You've got a girl back in London or wherever you're from?"

"London," Arthur nodded. "I'm from London, yes. But, to answer your question, no, I don't have a girlfriend…or anything like that," he added.

Alfred didn't respond straight away. Arthur tore his eyes from the stitches to find Alfred smiling oddly at him. The look in his eyes made Arthur feel very uncomfortable. "Wh-why are you looking at me like that?!" he panicked.

"You answered _that_ question easy enough!" he teased with a wink.

"Wh-what are you implying?!" Arthur blushed, affronted.

"Nothing! I just meant that you made a big fuss about my other question and you went and answered this one without much of a fight at all!"

Arthur huffed, but didn't answer. He reached for the antiseptic and dumped a bit onto a cotton ball before dapping it carefully at Alfred's newly stitched hands. Alfred hissed at the touch, wincing slightly. "Ow…" he laughed lightly. Arthur smiled wryly before pulling Alfred's hand closer, observing it one last time to make sure everything was okay.

"So…" Alfred sang after a few moments of comfortable silence. "About dinner…"

Arthur sighed, running his thumb down the wound. "You're not going to give up until I give in, aren't you?"

Alfred smiled. "Nope!"

Well, Arthur didn't really expect anything different. He sighed, then realized he was still holding—_checking_ Alfred's hand and dropped it at once. "Well…I suppose one dinner wouldn't kill me…"

At that, Alfred absolutely beamed and Arthur both regretted and approved of his decision. How such a combination was possible was beyond him, but he seemed to be experiencing that feeling every time Alfred was around. "All right! Let's get off this base, then!"

"But we're an hour away from town!" Arthur protested.

"And?"

"And I still have four hours of my shift left…"

Alfred's shoulders sagged. "Aw, I forgot you were working." Then, he seemed to remember the real reason he came here for, because he looked at his hand carefully. "Do you sew?" he asked out of the blue.

Arthur blushed. "P-pardon?"

"You did this really, really neat for a guy, even a doctor. I was just wondering if maybe you sewed."

"I-I don't know what you're talking about," he growled and looked away. "I just have steady hands, is all!"

Alfred laughed. The sound echoed off of the high ceiling and bounced down the halls, making Arthur suddenly embarrassed. "I'll have to remember that!" Alfred winked.

If Arthur wasn't blushing before, he _definitely_ was now. What the bloody hell had he meant by _that_? Before Arthur could react further, Alfred let out another laugh. "All right! So I'll meet you back here at six, then! And we'll go eat!"

Arthur just nodded, still too flustered to speak, as Alfred headed for the exit.

"Oh, and Arthur!" Alfred called back as he stepped out the door. "Thanks for fixing me up!" He pointed to his hand. Arthur held up one of his own to acknowledge him and, after one last smile, Alfred was gone.

Arthur let out a loud sigh of relief once the soldier was out of sight. He really couldn't have taken much more of that! How was he going to handle going to _dinner_ with him? Arthur pushed the thought away, telling himself to focus solely on work now.

Unfortunately for him, just because Alfred was out of his sight, it didn't mean he was out of his mind. Try as he might, Arthur just couldn't seem to get the annoying American out of his head. "Kirkland!" another doctor snapped at him. "I said, get to Room Twenty-three!"

"R-right! Sorry!"

...

Arthur stifled a yawn behind his hand as he walked out of the hospital at roughly six o'clock at night. He was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to go home and make a pot of tea and _sleep_.

It was already dark, and grey as always. Arthur, though he had long since adjusted to the bleak and cold base, missed spring and summer desperately. He had all but forgotten what it was like to enjoy the sun's warmth on his skin, the feel of freshly cut grass under his fingers, the smell of recently watered flowers…

The sun didn't seem to exist here. The concrete had long since replaced most of the grass and any spots that did remain had turned brown or receded away all together. He hadn't seen a flower since he had arrived.

"Artie! Hey, Artie!"

The sound of that voice pulled Arthur out of his thoughts like a fish being snapped from the sea. His face secured its prominent frown as Alfred Jones jogged up to him, all smiles and waves. "Do _not_ call me that," he hissed.

"What? Artie?"

Arthur flushed. "My name is Arthur! I'd prefer it if you kept it that way. You don't hear me calling you something as horrid as 'Alfie,' do you?"

Alfred blinked. "You know what? I kinda like when you call me that!"

Arthur was rather taken aback, but recovered quickly. "I am _not_ calling you that!"

Alfred just laughed. "I'd be surprised if you _did_, actually!"

Arthur hated that. He hated when Alfred acted like they have known each other for years and years when they only met yesterday. He hated how casual and carefree he acted, as if it was the most natural thing in the world to be talking to him. Arthur simply did not understand a single thing about the American soldier standing in front of him.

"Anyways, miss me?" Alfred winked.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Unbelievably so," he replied sarcastically.

Alfred laughed and clapped Arthur's back. Arthur tensed at the contact, glaring at nothing. "Well, I won't keep you waiting any longer! Let's go eat!"

They went to a small restaurant located just off-base. Alfred must have reconsidered his city idea, much to Arthur's relief. He had to work tomorrow and, frankly, he did not want to be miserable two days in a row. A hangover one day and utterly exhausted the next. Yes, that just spelled professional!

It was quiet and brightly lit, brighter than anything Arthur had seen since he arrived at that godforsaken plot of cement. It wasn't very crowded, but the people there seemed to either be families or couples. A waitress came over to show them to their seat, and Arthur noticed she was having a hard time refraining from looking at Alfred.

Arthur felt a twinge of something—annoyance? Disdain for her lack of professionalism?

"Can I get you anything to drink?" she asked Alfred, batting her ridiculously large eyelashes at him.

_It's 'May I get you anything to drink.'_ Arthur corrected in his head.

He glanced at Alfred, suddenly curious as to how the American would react to the obvious flirting. Surprisingly, or rather not so, Alfred seemed oblivious to it. He ordered a soda while Arthur ordered iced tea. The waitress gave Arthur an almost inconvenienced look before winking back at Alfred. "I'll be right back, darling!" she said and walked away.

"Well," Arthur mumbled once the waitress was out of earshot, "she was rather friendly, wasn't she?"

Alfred blinked. "What do you mean?"

Arthur rolled his eyes. Did he have to spell _everything_ out for this kid? "Oh, please! Don't tell me you really didn't notice how she flirted with you!"

Alfred blinked even harder. "She flirted? With _me_?"

"Your modesty is very commendable," Arthur muttered dryly. "Honestly, don't act like that doesn't happen wherever you go!"

"What? No way! And, anyways, what about you? I bet all the girls go crazy for those eyebrows, am I right?" He winked.

Arthur gritted his teeth at the eyebrows comment, but let it slide. For now. "I hate to disappoint you, but I'm afraid that department of discussion has been rather lacking material as of late."

"Oh, come on! What about that nurse?"

And now Arthur was blinking like a buffoon. "Nurse? What nurse?"

"Where else would a nurse be? From the hospital! The one that was walking out with you earlier! She was practically _begging_ for you to take her out!"

"She…she was?" Arthur thought back. Yes, he knew who Alfred was talking about. She was new, newer than Arthur was, and had been talking about wanting to go out and see the countryside, but was new to the area and needed a guide. Had she meant for _Arthur_ to be her guide?

Oddly, the idea of a potential date with that girl made Arthur frown. "I don't think I'm really her type," he said offhandedly.

Alfred snorted. "Why? Cause you're grumpy?"

Arthur glared. "No. Because I…oh bullocks, just forget it. You'll just blow it out of proportion again."

"Yep! Probably!" Alfred said so earnestly that Arthur had to crack a smile.

Just then, Coquettish Girl was back with their drinks. This time, Arthur watched her and Alfred's interactions _very_ closely. He felt something pang at him again when, this time, Alfred returned her smile for a moment before suddenly turning back to Arthur, ignoring her and Arthur's questioning look almost completely.

The rest of dinner went much smoother than Arthur had ever expected it to be. Alfred seemed to be trying very hard to act civilized, so Arthur thought he would at least make an attempt to act _civil_. Though he would much rather spend a quiet evening back at his quarters, he found that he didn't entirely hate the time he spent with the American.

They talked about where they grew up and where they wanted to travel to. Then they eventually wandered into the inevitable topic of the war.

"I didn't even think twice about signing up," Alfred said brightly. "My mother was completely against it, of course."

"Just how old are you?" Arthur asked, then quickly added, "I-if it's all right to ask…"

"Nineteen!" Alfred grinned, raising his glass to his lips.

"Nineteen…" Arthur repeated, frowning. He suddenly felt like an old man sitting across from the energetic and optimistic youth. They were four years apart, he realized with a start. "Don't you think…you're a bit young to be so ready for war?"

"I know people that are younger than me that came over on the same boat as me!" Alfred laughed carelessly.

Arthur didn't smile. "What's it been like in America since…since…you know…?"

Alfred shrugged. "It was a big shock initially, when we were attacked, but that was nothing compared to what I've heard happened in London."

Arthur dropped his gaze. "Yes, the Blitz is certainly something I do not wish to live through again."

"You mean you actually went through it?"

"Once while visiting my family on the Holidays. I was at school during most of it, though."

"That must've been scary."

"It certainly wasn't pleasant."

"Well, now you don't have to worry about that happening again! The heroes are here!"

Arthur smiled despite himself. "Yes, I suppose so."

After dinner, Alfred accompanied Arthur on the walk back to his barracks. Arthur's opinion of him had changed slightly over the course of the night. He still thought he was a horribly irritating and childish, but there was also that undying optimism that Arthur himself had long since forgotten. Perhaps he wasn't as terrible as Arthur had initially thought.

...

For the next few weeks, Arthur had fallen into a rut. He would wake up, go to work, and then go have a few drinks with Matthew and Alfred. He enjoyed the time spent talking aimlessly with the brothers and relaxing. It was almost easy to forget that there was a war. It was even easier to forget that the two of them were shipping out in a few short weeks.

Even during the times that Matthew had other appointments, other plans, Arthur and Alfred still talked. Arthur's opinion of Alfred hadn't changed much over the course of their time spent mulling over meaningless conversations in the pub. He was still a child; naïve, yet almost admirable, and stubborn, yet overbearingly considerate.

"So…" Alfred sang as he nursed his drink. "How's it going with that nurse?"

"Which nurse?" Arthur inquired.

Alfred snorted. "The one that's always hanging around you! Remember? The one we talked about?"

"Oh, her," he stated flatly. "Yes, I haven't spoken to her much at all."

"Why not?"

"Well, she's not really my type," he huffed indignantly before taking a rather large gulp of his drink. "And it's rather rude of you to ask, yank."

"Oh, come on! What do you mean she's not your type? She's pretty and nice and caring…what else is there?"

"If you like her so much why don't you go and bloody talk with her?"

Alfred ignored him, his eyes shining with some sort of understanding. "Unless…oh, I get it. I understand."

A bad feeling overcame Arthur. "What?" he asked. "What do you get?"

"_She's_ not your type. Yep. Gotcha! I understand _exactly_ what you mean."

Arthur felt his cheeks heat up. "I don't think you do. What are you saying, Jones?" he demanded sternly. "You sure as hell better not be implying what I think you're implying!"

"Hey, no need to get all fussy!" Alfred held up his hands. "I'm just saying! If you play for the _other_ team, that's perfectly fine with me!"

And Arthur's temper hit its limit. He slammed the glass on the bar and glared at the American blinking beside him. "_Excuse me?!_" he shouted. "Do I _look_ like I bloody '_play for the other team_'?!"

"Um…" Alfred winced.

"How dare you! I am very well not…_not_…I prefer women!" he said hastily, desperately trying to ignore his violent blush. He crossed his arms and looked away. "Bloody hell. I don't like one nurse and suddenly I'm on a damn bloody trial!"

For a second, Alfred just sat there, staring at Arthur, before he promptly burst into raucous laughter. "What?" Arthur turned to him, uncrossing his arms. "What?" he repeated a little harsher.

Alfred wiped at his eye beneath his glasses. "Sorry!" he chuckled. "It's just fun to see you all worked up!"

And the blush was back. Mumbling a colorful array of negative word choices beneath his breath, Arthur turned away from Alfred's prying gaze and downed the rest of his drink before hastily ordering another.

After a while, their conversation turned somber.

"So…you'll be leaving in a few weeks…" Arthur started, gleefully envisioning Alfred F. Jones walking out of the base and far, far away from there. Then, he pictured what the Blitz had done to London and suddenly saw Alfred there, amongst the rubble and the destruction, and didn't feel so glad about his departure anymore.

"Yeah." Alfred didn't sound as cheerful as he normally did, but the smile was still there, even if it was just a bit softer. "Two weeks."

Two? Arthur hadn't realized it was so soon. The realization of that fact hit him harder than he anticipated it would. It was probably because he was going to miss Matthew, who had been, as it were, Arthur's only true friend there. Yes. It was definitely because of Matthew.

And not…

Arthur bit his lower lip and looked away, eyebrows furrowed. "Ah," he let out. "I trust you'll take care of yourself out there, yes?"

Alfred laughed hollowly. "Of course! I'm a hero, Artie! Haven't I told you that before?"

"As a matter of fact," Arthur smiled wryly, "you have. Several times." Then, for some reasons Arthur couldn't explain, he laughed.

Alfred didn't answer. He just broke into the goofiest grin Arthur had seen yet. Arthur blinked at him. "What's with that face?" he asked curiously.

"I made you laugh," Alfred smirked slyly. "That was the first time I have ever seen you laugh."

Arthur wiped the smile from his face, jerked straight into a composed position on his chair, and glared at the bottles of alcohol on the shelf. "Idiot…" he muttered into his glass, desperately ignoring those eyes focusing on him. That gaze was so intense that Arthur could practically feel his skin begin to burn, and he desperately wished for it to stop.

He slammed his drink down on the bar and loudly announced, "I think I probably get to sleep!"

Alfred looked taken aback but recovered quickly. "I'll walk with ya!" he said happily, rising to his feet. Arthur cursed inwardly.

"You really don't have to," Arthur tried politely.

"Whatever! My barracks are right around the corner from yours anyways!"

Arthur sighed. "Very well then…"

The two paid for their drinks and left without saying anything to one another. Arthur was lost in his own miserable thoughts, sending subtle glares at the humming American's way. Alfred looked, if possible, even more chipper than usual. Arthur didn't miss the little glances he kept throwing at him either.

The silence was only broken whenever Alfred bid Arthur a good night at the entrance to his barracks and Arthur forced out a taut farewell in return before escaping into the building and rushing to his designated room. Once the resounding sound of a lock sliding in its place clicked, Arthur sighed with relief and immediately fell into bed, feeling exhausted.

But, for some reason, sleep didn't come. In the end, he resolved to just lying there, looking out the window at the single shining star glittering against the endless black.

In that moment, more than ever, he fervently wished that the war was over.

* * *

**_Why hello there! :3 This is my debut to the Hetalia scene, but I love learning about World War II and I love Hetalia, so it fits. There's a BUNCH of WWII fanfics out there (I know. I've read them xD) but I'm super excited to write this. This IS a USUK fic—you already know this or you wouldn't be reading it, would you?—and the rating may change if needed or wanted. I'm very particular about facts and dates, so I'll do my very best to keep this as historically accurate as possible. That being said, however, some things are going to be slightly impractical for the sake of the story, but nothing over the top, promise! Anyways, thanks for reading and I'll see you all soon for the next chap—which, yes, they'll usually be this long to make up for uneven updates—yeah? :P –N_**

**_Disclaimer: You already know it. Hetalia and its characters all belong to Hidekaz Himaruya! :3  
_**


	2. Eighteen

**_Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage._**

**_–Lao Tzu_**

**_Chapter Two  
_**

_Tuesday December 1, 1942_

Eighteen.

It had been eighteen days since Arthur made Alfred's acquaintance, and there were only eighteen more hours until he had to say goodbye to the brothers, presumably for good. The fact loomed above Arthur's head like a dark cloud, swarming with worry and doubt. It didn't help that the weather, which was always as cheerful as Siberia in the winter, seemed to have only gotten even more ominous.

Now, a strict, howling wind whipped at the faces of the occupants of the lively military base. Arthur pulled his coat closer to himself, shivering against the chill, as he made his usual trek to the hospital.

He was trying his best to keep positive—or at least somewhat less pessimistic. He saw firsthand what that bloody war did to soldiers, and knowing Matthew and Alfred were on their way out to where all that death and pain was emanating from…it was destroying him. He already had his brothers to worry for, and, though he wasn't terribly close to any of them, they were still family.

Matthew was already at the hospital when Arthur arrived. He smiled and waved as Arthur approached him. Arthur gave him a disapproving look. "What are you doing here?" he demanded.

"Um…helping? You know, like I have been for the past few months?"

"That's not what I mean. You leave tomorrow morning. You should be out and having fun or resting and sleeping."

Matthew gave another softer smile and shrugged. "I like helping out."

Matthew was misunderstanding him. Arthur didn't want Matthew's last day in the safety of the base to spent looking at the product of the gore that he was soon to be marching straight towards. He wanted him to spend the day with his brother, perhaps, and take it easy, and to find a way to prevent the sun from ever setting. But all he said was, "If you're sure."

Matthew nodded and quickly went back to helping. Arthur frowned and went to take off his coat.

He looked at the clock and inwardly sighed.

Seventeen and a half hours left.

...

Charts. He forgot the charts again. He always forgot the damn charts.

Each patient had a chart pertaining to each of them and their particular injuries. Arthur saw easily up to fifty patients a day. He did everything from administer medication to resuscitation. He saw everything from minor bruising to festering open wounds. By the end of his shift, he was usually exhausted both physically and mentally.

Today, however, it seemed to be even busier than usual. They had lost two more doctors over the past month. Arthur was forced to take on even more patients and stay longer hours. He did so without complaining. It gave him a viable excuse to skip out on going out for drinks with Matthew and Alfred.

Matthew he could tolerate. He stayed quiet most of the time and didn't seem to mind when their conversations would come to a dead end. Alfred, on the other hand, was a nuisance.

He couldn't wait for him to move on. But at the same time, he didn't want him to go. He would use excuse after excuse to get out of meeting Alfred, but he would always accept the initial offer.

He was reluctant to admit to himself, but he knew the real reason why he had been so irritable lately.

He was jealous.

He was jealous that Matthew and Arthur had the courage to fight. They were doing what Arthur had always wanted to, but couldn't ever do it.

As Arthur forced the thoughts away, he picked up the folder of full of patient charts. He sifted through them uninterestedly and made to go out the door.

"There you are!"

Arthur dropped his papers in his surprise. Muttering a flood of curses, he bent down to gather the scattered pieces. A pair of hands reached out to help him. "Sorry! I didn't mean to scare you!"

Arthur looked up wearily to see a bright, slightly sheepish face smiling back at him. "Alfred."

Alfred rubbed the back of his neck. "Sheesh. Don't get _too_ excited."

"What are you doing here? I have work to do. Don't tell me you've gotten another scratch. I should really start charging you."

"No, no! I'm fine! I just came by because…well…I'm leaving tomorrow so…"

"Yes. I'm aware. So?"

Alfred winced. "So I wanted to come say goodbye."

Goodbye? Arthur felt a cold chill run through him. The way he had said it made Arthur feel as if Alfred had already accepted the possibility that he could…that he could…

"Don't be so stupid," Arthur muttered, hugging his clipboard closer to his chest.

"What? I'm just saying goodbye! How's that stupid?"

"Goodbyes are stupid…" he snapped. "You make it seem so…final."

"Huh?"

"Like you've accepted that you might die."

"I…oh." Alfred looked uncomfortable. "Well, I mean, it's a war, right? That's just part of the risk I'll have to take. But, I'm not going to die. Heroes don't die, you see! And if they do it's a better death than a bullet wound or something so don't worry about me! I'll be fine! I should be worrying about you! You're stuck here with all _this_!" He laughed loudly and gestured to the greyness of the room.

Arthur didn't answer. He just looked at his shoes, suddenly finding them very interesting.

"Look, if it makes you that worried…how about I'll write to you?"

That made Arthur look up. "What?"

"Yeah! I'll write to you so you know I'm still alive and whatever! Look, you don't even have to write back if you don't want to!"

Arthur crossed his arms and looked away. "Do what you want."

"Okay, it's settled then! We're going to the bar, or pub, or whatever you Brits call it later. You'll be there, right?"

Arthur sighed, playing with the paperclip. "I have work."

"Come after!"

"Why are you so insistent on seeing me?" Arthur snapped.

"Because you look so upset all the time," Alfred said easily. "And you work too much. It's not good for your health, yanno!"

Arthur shuffled uneasily from foot to foot, trying to come back with a smart remark or a snide comment, but couldn't even find his voice. Instead, all that slipped out was a quick, "All right, then."

Alfred clearly hadn't been anticipating this answer. He blinked and let out a short laugh. "All righty! See, was that so hard? Eight o'clock! Be there or be square!"

"What kind of geometry do they teach to you across the pond?" Arthur mumbled grumpily, quite embarrassed that he had so readily agreed. Alfred wasn't listening; however, he was already bounding down the hallway shouting for Matthew.

Arthur caught a glimpse of his own reflection as he passed a window. He certainly looked rather worse for the wear. He felt like the only one fretting about this whole thing, and yet he wasn't the one going to war. He wasn't risking his life any more than he would have been in London.

"Well someone has to worry for them…" a voice in his head reasoned. "And someone has to stay behind and help."

For some reason that didn't really help him much. For a frightening moment, he wondered if he would be this stressed if he HAD joined the army. He probably would. Maybe more.

"Dr. Kirkland!" a new voice suddenly shouted, jogging up the hall. Arthur turned and saw a young nurse running up to him. "We need you!"

And, just like that, he found the routine again. He let everything else slip to the back of his mind and followed the nurse with quick steps. "What's happening?"

"It's the John Doe that was sent to us last month."

"Another spasm?"

"No, sir. He's awake."

"Awake?"

"Yes, sir. He keeps saying one thing but no one can understand him."

"Have you checked his blood pressure?"

"Normal, sir."

"Concussion?"

"Most likely."

Arthur walked into one of the few private rooms left in the overcrowded hospital. They were usually reserved for soldiers with high rankings, severe injuries, or officers. But then this mystery soldier showed up on their front step over a month ago. He was rather worse for the wear; gunshot wound to the side, trauma to the head, broken arm, and a fractured femur. He was unconscious and didn't respond to any efforts to wake him up. The strangest part was that he wore what looked like a Spanish uniform, but there weren't any identifying features. There were no badges or tags or anything.

It confused everyone and Arthur insisted on giving the Unknown Soldier a private room. He checked on the man every day, but there was never any change.

Arthur walked into the room to find that their John Doe was indeed finally awake. There were two nurses struggling to restrain him. "Doctor!" one of them cried.

"Get me some morphine!" Arthur called over his shoulder to the stunned nurse in the doorway as he rushed forward and held down the struggling man. "Now!" he added tersely.

"_Roma,_" the man, undoubtedly Spanish, was muttering. His voice was dry and cracked from lack of use. His bright green eyes were frantic, confused, and searching for something. "_Roma!_"

"Shhh! You need to calm down or you'll open your bloody wounds! You are in a field hospital in England, and you are safe! But you need to lie down!"

"_Roma!"_

"It's useless, sir. I don't think he speaks English."

Suddenly, the nurse ran back in with a needle full of morphine. Arthur had to use a considerable amount of force to keep the Spaniard's arm down in order for the nurse to inject him with the morphine. Within a few minutes, the Spaniard stopped struggling and lulled into a sleepy state.

"Go find Private Williams," Arthur told a nurse. "He speaks Spanish, I'm pretty sure."

"Yes, sir."

The rest of them ran out of the room, busy with other patients and orders, but Arthur lagged behind. He watched the Spaniard curiously. He had definitely been through something major. "You're going to be all right," Arthur whispered to the delirious soldier. "I'll be back soon."

With one final check at his bandages, Arthur left the room with his head buzzing with questions. _Roma…_what did that mean?

_Keeping him alive is your priority, _Arthur thought_, you're not a detective, after all._

"Arthur! I heard the John Doe woke up! Is that true?" Matthew popped out of a room out of nowhere.

"Bloody hell, Matthew!" Arthur gasped. That was the second time today Arthur had had the daylights scared out of him. The previous offender had a face eerily similar to the one apologizing to him now. "It's fine, it's fine. But, yes, it's true. He woke up and he's delirious. Definitely Spanish. He kept saying 'Roma.' Does that mean anything?"

Matthew shook his head. "It could be a name or a code or a place? It could be anything."

"A name?" Arthur repeated. "Or a code? Maybe. He's taking a little nap right now but when he wakes maybe you can speak to him. He may not understand English."

"Right. Sure thing."

"Thank you," Arthur sighed. "What on Earth am I going to do without you here?"

Matthew snorted, trailing after Arthur down the dull, dark halls. "I'm sure you'll find some new, frightened intern to bully."

Arthur forced a laugh. "Perhaps. Most of the doctors avoid me nowadays."

"Well, you don't always play nice with others," Matthew nodded, "but you care about your patients. And that's what matters most."

Arthur supplied a fleeting smile before ducking into another large room filled with row after row of soldiers. Matthew waved and walked on, probably heading to the medicine room to pick up more painkillers. A half a minute later, Matthew backtracked to the doorway. "By the way, Arthur!"

Arthur paused in the act of listening to a heartbeat. "What?"

"I ran into Alfred earlier. He seemed really excited about getting drinks with you. It's nice that you agreed. He's really fond of you, you know."

Arthur blinked, ignoring the temperature rise in his cheeks. Alfred fond of him? That was ridiculous. Arthur tried to speak but only ended up looking like a suffocating fish. Matthew smiled as if he knew something Arthur didn't. "Just don't break his heart tonight, kay, 'Artie?' Or I might just have to kill you!"

The flush that blossomed covered his entire face. "B-break his…? What the bloody hell are you on about?"

Matthew threw his head back and laughed. "I'll definitely miss that! See you for drinks, Arthur!" Matthew held up a hand and continued down the hall, shaking his head and laughing to no one.

And Arthur spent the rest of his shift wondering what the bleeding hell he had meant by that.

Eventually, he checked back in on their Spanish patient. He seemed to have calmed down a bit, which was a relief to say the least. "Uh…hola!" Arthur called unsurely.

The Spanish soldier smiled wryly, touching the bandages wrapped around his forehead. "I can speak English, you know."

Arthur scratched his nose. "Ah…so you can. How are you feeling?"

"Like how I look," he replied casually, as if they had been friends for years and were currently having a cup of tea together.

"Yes, well, you sustained some rather serious injuries. May I ask what you were doing to get so roughed up? I didn't think there were any Spanish soldiers, well, anywhere."

"Ah, I'm not soldier. Not really."

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Do you have a name then? Or shall I just have to continue writing these charts under the name of 'John Doe'?"

The Spaniard blinked incredulously. "My name isn't John."

"No, I didn't—that doesn't mean," Arthur gave up. "Never mind that. What's your real name?"

"Antonio."

"Antonio…?" Arthur pried when 'Antonio' didn't continue. "Last name?"

Antonio remained silent.

"I see. Just Antonio, then." Arthur sighed as he scribbled away on his papers. "Let's make sure you're all right."

"Okie dokie."

Otherwise ignoring him, Arthur took a small flashlight from his pocket and shined it into Antonio's eyes. "Follow the light, if you will," Arthur mumbled as he moved the flashlight very slowly from side to side, keeping an eye on Antonio's pupils. "I think it's safe to say you have a concussion."

"When can I leave?"

Arthur placed the stethoscope into his ears. "Deep breath and hold it."

Antonio did as he was told.

"All right."

Antonio let out his air with a sigh. Arthur recorded his heart rate before Antonio asked again, "Can I leave now?"

Arthur blinked at him. "Mr. Antonio, you are hurt much worse than I think you realize! You aren't going anywhere for a very long time."

At that, Antonio grew quite angry. He stood up suddenly, taking Arthur by surprise, and grabbed the front of Arthur's coat roughly. Arthur's clipboard smacked against the floor. "No! I have to leave _de una vez__!_ _Mis amigos _are waiting for me!"

Arthur responded with force. "I don't bloody care what your 'amigos' are up to!" he huffed. "You are not going anywhere but back to bed! You're going to open your wounds! You won't be any good to anyone if you leave now!"

His words seemed to have to have an effect on Antonio. He sat back down on the bed, looking conflicted. Arthur straightened his tie. "I'll have the nurses bring you up something to eat. Don't do anything stupid in the meantime."

Oddly, Antonio began to laugh. Arthur crossed his arms. "What's so funny?"

"Oh, _lo siento_ , doctor. You just reminded me of someone…"

"My name is Arthur."

"_Vale_, Dr. Arthur!"

Arthur cracked a smile. "Just get some rest, will you?"

Antonio nodded and Arthur left, wondering if Roma was really a person after all.

...

At eight o'clock Arthur found himself standing in front of the pub entrance. He could hear Alfred's boisterous laughter from where he stood but for some reason was unable to open the door.

What had him so afraid?

Every time he thought of Alfred leaving he just felt…scared.

"Bloody Americans…" Arthur hissed, his breath leaving his mouth in a puff of steam. They were loud and confusing and, frankly, Arthur couldn't wait to be rid of them. All right, maybe he wasn't being terribly honest but…still…if the Americans had never shown up in the first place then he wouldn't be standing in the cold like a lost dog, now, would he?

Just as he decided that this was a bad idea, that he absolutely could not face Alfred or his rowdy group of cowboy friends now nor ever, and that he should go straight back home and pretend this never happened, the door swung opened. Golden light fell upon Arthur's startled face, striking a stark contrast to the doom and gloom that overcame him.

"Alfred! Calm down! Sit back down!"

"S-said_—hic—_he'd be here at e-eight! He's la—_hic_—late!"

Arthur stuttered unsurely at the scene unfolding in front of him. Alfred was there, right in front of him, trying to run out the door. Two of his soldier friends were struggling to keep Alfred inside the pub and they were barely managing. "A-Alfred!" Arthur gasped.

Alfred's attention focused on Arthur. "Artie!" he cried happily, now trying to hug Arthur. "You—_hic—_made it!"

Arthur sighed, holding his forehead. "Yes, Alfred, I made it."

He was so nervous and yet he was smiling. Nothing made any sense around Alfred.

Arthur was all but dragged into the pub by a laughing Alfred. Alfred's friends seemed relieved, clapping Arthur on the shoulder. He had just settled down at the bar when he heard a sudden cry, "Hey! Dr. Kirkland!"

Arthur looked up curiously. A grinning American soldier in a new uniform leaned against the bar, grabbing Arthur's shoulder. "Dr. Kirkland! You may not remember me, but I got shot in the shoulder a few months back! You fixed me up!"

"Wow! Did you really, Artie?" Alfred laughed loudly. How much alcohol had he consumed?

"Aha…well, it's good to see you up and running, chap!" Arthur smiled, quite uncomfortable with all the attention he was getting.

"Let me buy you a drink, man!" the man practically pleaded.

"Oh, no, thank you. That's not really necessary—"

"Nonsense! Barkeep!" the man shouted loudly. The bartended glanced up warily, looking hassled and annoyed. "Drink for my good friend here!"

Arthur gave an apologetic look toward the grumbling bartender, who grabbed a glass and a bottle. The man laughed and seemed eager to talk to Arthur, who was feeling more and more out of place. The man was currently shoving a picture into Arthur's face of a young woman. "This is my gal back home! She's real swell. Always sending me letters and stuff! She's a nurse, too, but she's still in the States. I'm from—"

"Let the man breathe, Frank!" Matthew snorted, appearing on the other side of Alfred, who had been sulking the whole time for some strange reason. "You're going to smother him!"

"Frank" scowled embarrassedly, muttering a quick apology before downing the rest of his drink. Arthur took a large gulp of his own, wincing at the familiar warmth that coursed through his veins.

"Sorry about him," Matthew said. "He's a chatterbox."

"I couldn't tell," Arthur muttered sarcastically.

Beside him, Alfred let out a huff. "Whatever…"

"What's wrong with him?" Arthur asked Matthew curiously.

"Don't mind him. He gets broody when he's drunk."

"Are you sure it's all right for him to be this pissed the night before you shove off?" Arthur bit his lip.

"Are you worried for him, Dr. Stolid?" Matthew teased.

Arthur blinked. Then he directed his attention to his drink. "I just hate this war."

Arthur tried to ignore the sudden stare Alfred held on him. Even Matthew fell silent.

"Too much gloom!" Frank suddenly shouted, slamming his empty glass onto the bar. "BARKEEP!"

Half a dozen soldiers raised their glasses and cheered in agreement. Suddenly, everything was joyful again. The radio was cranked up. The laughter in turn grew louder to override the music. Arthur found that his glass never managed to be empty. Each time he set it down the bartender would top it off or another soldier or ex-patient would order another round for him.

Arthur had never felt so included before. For the first time since he arrived at the base, he felt like he _belonged_ somewhere.

But they were leaving in a few short hours.

And then he'd be alone again.

But at least this glass would still be full the next time he came.

The minutes flew by faster than Arthur's soberness could keep up. Sometime after what must have been the eighth round, Arthur was too drunk to even stay in his seat without swaying.

"I think that's enough for the doctor!" one of the soldiers laughed. "Though, I'm surprised the little guy could down so much liquor in one sitting!"

"'Course I can!" Arthur shouted in slurs. "I'm a bloody Englishman! We can out drink you yanks any day! Just ask Alfred! Oi, where'd Alfred go?"

"He's right beside you, Doc."

"Ah! Right-o!" Arthur clapped Alfred on the shoulder. "Just ask my friend, Alfred, here! Go on, lad, tell 'em!"

"Oh, we're friends now, are we?" Alfred snorted in amusement. "But I distinctly remember you losing that bet."

The soldiers let out loud bursts of laughter, ruffling Arthur's hair and slapping Alfred's back. One soldier clapped Arthur's back so roughly he choked and spurted his drink all over the bar. "All right, doctor, I think you've had more than enough to drink for one night."

"'M fine!" Arthur waved them off, swaying a bit. He lifted his now empty glass like a sword and shouted in a loud voice, "Another round!" before falling forwards like a ragdoll. His forehead smacked the bar heavily.

...

"Is he dead?"

"He's not dead, Alfred, so you can stop _poking_ him."

"He's not waking up! Crap, call a doctor!"

Arthur groaned. Only one voice was annoying enough to rouse him from an alcohol-induced nap. "I _am_ a doctor, you twit."

He opened his eyes to see two very relieved and very identical faces beaming at him. "Thank God!" Alfred laughed. "I thought you died. That would suck."

"Alfred, shut up," Matthew said. "You were the one handing him drinks every two minutes. How are you feeling, Arthur?"

Arthur blinked but it was no use. His vision was blurry beyond repair. "Ugh…I'm fine. Just a little—_bloody hell_!" Arthur hissed as a sharp pain hit his nose. "Ah, what happened to my nose?"

Alfred laughed. "Dude, you totally crashed into that bar!" he sniggered.

"You weren't laughing when it happened, Alfred!" Matthew teased. "You should have seen him, Arthur, he was frantic! Trying to shake you awake and calling for a doctor and shouting your name."

Alfred blushed. "Shut up, Mattie!"

Arthur's head was still spinning too much to really listen to the twins' squabbling. He held his nose with a wince. "Ow…damn it all!"

"Here, I'll get you some ice!" Alfred shouted too loudly and ran off, tripping over a toppled bar stool in his rush.

Matthew sighed. "He's hopeless."

"Hopelessly annoying," Arthur grumbled. "Honestly, why does he always want to bother _me_?"

Matthew shook his head in exasperation. "You really don't get it, do you, Arthur?"

Arthur prodded at his nose and winced. It didn't seem to be broken, just sore. "Eh? What?"

"He's bugging you because he _likes_ you!"

Arthur still didn't get it. "I don't understand."

"So you're telling me you're not even going to miss him when he's gone?"

Arthur sobered quite remarkably at those words. He gathered his hands in his lap, wringing them anxiously. "Of course I'll miss him…" he admittedly quietly. "I'll miss you, too."

"We'll be back."

Arthur snorted. "Hopefully not as a patient, eh?"

Matthew smiled softly. "I'd prefer not to be, at least."

Suddenly Alfred was tumbling back with an ice pack. "Here, Art!" He frantically shoved the ice onto Arthur's nose. Arthur winced but decided that, as long as Alfred was attempting to be helpful, he may as well play along. He gingerly took the ice from Alfred's hands and kept steady pressure on his bruising nose.

"Thank you," he said a bit nasally. He avoided a curious glance from Matthew.

"Are you feeling okay? Do you need anything else?"

"No, I'm quite all right, Alfred. There's no need to trouble yourself."

"I'm not troubled," Alfred pouted. "I feel right awful."

"Don't. It seems I can't hold my liquor as well as I thought, huh?"

Alfred cracked a smile. "You're just now realizing that?"

"Oh, shut it."

Alfred laughed and turned to say something to Matthew only that his twin wasn't there. "Hey, where'd Mattie go?"

Arthur looked as well but couldn't locate him either. He took the opportunity to observe where he was. They were sitting in the back of the bar next to a small piano that Arthur had never noticed existed. He sighed and leaned his head against the wall. There was a piano like this back at his mother's house. He used to play it on Christmas Eve. But he was pretty sure it had been destroyed during the Blitz like the rest of the half that had been hit.

Thankfully, nothing more valuable than that had been lost. Arthur didn't know what he would do if he lost any more of his family. Even though he was particularly close them.

"Do you play?" Alfred's sudden voice ripped Arthur away from his thoughts.

"What?"

"You've been staring at that piano like it's your long lost pet or something."

He had? Arthur straightened up quickly. "Aha…I used to play when I was younger. But I haven't for a long time."

"Why not?"

"Pardon?"

"If you liked it so much why did you stop?"

Arthur sighed. "Well, I went to Cambridge and, believe you me; there isn't much time to spend dillydallying on a bloody piano. Then I was transferred here immediately after graduation so…"

"So play now!"

"Oh, n-no…I couldn't possibly…"

"Yeah! Come on! Just one song!"

"No, Alfred. There's so many people and I don't think they'd appreciate me—"

"HEY EVERYBODY!" Alfred was already shouting, standing up on his chair. Arthur's jaw dropped. "WHO WANTS DR. KIRKLAND HERE TO PLAY US A LITTLE SONG?"

He received a surprisingly loud cheer in response. Arthur caught Matthew's smiling gaze. Alfred cut into his view. "See? You gonna say no to a bunch of potential clients?"

"That's not funny, Alfred…" Arthur gritted his teeth. He didn't always care for Alfred's sense of humor.

"So play. Come on. Please?"

Arthur found it impossible to say no to the so-obviously-staged puppy eyes. The realization rang somewhere in his chest, squeezing painfully. "Well…just one song then."

""All right!" Alfred cheered.

Arthur handed Alfred the icepack to hold, ignoring the dozens of stares, and sat down on the bench in front of the piano. He took a deep breath and stared at the aged and worn ivory keys. He glanced back at Alfred, who was smiling excitedly, rapt.

He remembered a happy tune he used to hear his mother play and, as he heard it in his head, the room heard it bounce off the walls. It wasn't a very long song, and Arthur couldn't recall all of it, so after just a few minutes he stopped, feeling downright foolish. But, when the pub erupted into applause and Alfred looked at him with warm adoration, there was a smile on his face.

He really didn't want morning to come.

...

"Sorry again for what happened to your nose…" Alfred was saying during the short walk back to the barracks.

Arthur snorted, which then caused him to wince in pain. "Ah, this is nothing! Besides, it'll heal within a few weeks."

"A few weeks…" Alfred repeated. "Wonder where I'll be in that amount of time."

Arthur observed Alfred's swaying stance and hazy eyes. "You're pissed. Come on, I'll make sure you get to your own room tonight."

"I'm not…_hic_—pissed! Oh, you mean drunk! You Brits are so _weird_!"

"And you Americans are just the crowning jewels of the world." Arthur rolled his eyes.

Alfred just laughed. Arthur's lips twitched upwards as he shushed him. Why was it that each time he spent time with Alfred one of them ended up intoxicated? "Which room is yours?" Arthur whispered once they were in the barracks, which was eerily quiet. Everyone was either asleep or still in the pub. Alfred was leaning heavily on Arthur's shoulder, grumbling incoherently. Was he asleep?! "Oi, Alfred!" Arthur hissed, shaking him quickly. "Alfred, you insufferable oaf, wake up!"

"S-second door on the left…"

Arthur grunted in reception, opening the door with one hand and keeping a death grip on Alfred with the other. A room very similar to his own was what waited for him: white walls, grey, thick sheets, and all the barest essentials. Arthur practically dragged Alfred to his bed and threw him on, ignoring that groan that emanated from the inebriated soldier.

"There you are!" Arthur heaved a tired sigh. "Safe and sound." He clapped Alfred on the back. "Keep on being safe and sound, all right? Wherever you go, stay safe. You don't always have to be the hero. You just have to be yourself. You're a good man so don't do anything brash. And I'll see you again when this bloody mess is finally over, okay?"

No answer.

Arthur realized Alfred had more than likely passed out. He smiled. Perhaps it was for the best. Arthur was never the wordy type, unless of course it was to deliver an insult. "Goodbye, Private Alfred F. Jones," Arthur whispered and went to leave, but something grabbed his wrist, stopping him.

He looked down to see Alfred's hand wrapped around Arthur's pale wrists. "Stay," Alfred's small voice whispered. "Please. Stay."

"Alfred, what the devil are you—?"

"I leave tomorrow…" Alfred whispered, sounding scared. "To fight in a war I know next to nothing about other than the Germans are the bad guys and we're the good guys. I don't know what to do…but I'm…I don't want to be alone."

"I…" Arthur was taken aback. "All right." But also relieved. He was relieved that he wasn't the only one that was terrified of what tomorrow could bring.

...

Arthur opened his eyes and had, again, a raging headache. There was a blanket around his shoulders. He groaned and stretched out his stiff, taut muscles. Wincing at the pain that greeted him in his neck, he slowly rose from the wooden chair he had fallen asleep in the previous night. His head was pounding and spinning with the undeniable signs of yet another hangover.

At first he didn't quite recognize where he was, until it all came roaring back. Alfred had asked him to stay. And Arthur had. He looked around but didn't see any signs of the annoying American soldier. A rotten hole dug into his chest. They were gone.

A sharp rumble started the doctor thoroughly. He looked up at the window.

For the first time since he had arrived to this dismal place, it was raining.

He glanced back at the blanket now resting on the floor. It had been taken from Alfred's vacated bed. The idiot must have draped it over Arthur's shoulders before he left. Arthur smiled softly but he didn't exactly know why.

He rubbed his cheek absently and wasn't sure why he felt so…lost. He checked his watch. It was roughly nine in the morning. He should get to work. He was already late.

He rubbed his cheek again then rested his gaze on the corner of the bed. There was a note on it. His heart skipped a beat as he ran over and lifted it up.

_Thank you, Arthur. You looked too peaceful to wake up and say goodbye so I'll just do it here. I'll see you soon, promise. Do me a favor and stay safe, will ya? I couldn't bear the thought of you coming out here. I have to go but don't forget me! I'll come back to you._

_Love, Alfred_

Confusion.

That was the first thing Arthur felt was confusion. It was a goodbye letter but several phrases perplexed him. First, he promises to see Arthur again, and soon. He couldn't bear the thought of Arthur in harm's way. He didn't want Arthur to forget him. Then he signed it "Love, Alfred."

"Love, Alfred?"

Arthur's thumb traced across the handwritten, heartwarming salutation. He caught his reflection in the mirror and, underneath his groggy hung-over appearance, there was a familiar wide smile on his face, very similar to what Alfred would have worn.

That thought quickly diminished the smile on his face.

"I'm late to work…" Arthur reminded himself and fled from the room as quickly as he could, praying that no one would spot him sneaking out and get some weird idea.

He acted skittish the rest of the day, avoiding glances and conversation altogether.

This was going to be tough.

...

It was strange to be at work without seeing Matthew running around. His workload had multiplied exponentially. He had taken to escaping to Antonio's room, although it rarely did much to improve his mood. Antonio simply blabbed on and on about whomever the hell Romano was and how he missed Romano.

Antonio had tried to escape from the hospital several different times. Arthur's nights were now filled with chasing down the bloody Spaniard. He had to give Antonio credit, though. His attempts had started to get creative. He had hidden himself in the laundry bags, almost making it to the street before Arthur caught him. Antonio had stolen Arthur's doctor coat while he was on break and almost made it until Arthur grabbed the back of his jacket and dragged him back with the help of two more doctors and some sedatives.

It was tiring work but it kept Arthur's mind rooted there in the hospital instead of drifting off to thoughts of Matthew and to thoughts of Alfred. It had been two full months since they left. He had received letters from both brothers and had responded to both as well.

Arthur would sometimes take out the note Alfred had left for him and read it over and over again. Alfred continued to confuse Arthur in each new letter, which didn't always particularly bother Arthur, and Alfred always signed it with 'Love.'

Arthur hated how each mail day he would rush to the post office and nearly tackle the man holding a sack of letters, but he loved whenever he got one. Especially from Alfred.

He didn't even think about what that meant.

But, in late January, he stopped getting letters altogether. He tried not to let it get to him. He assured himself again and again that it was simply because the mail was late, or they were both busy, or that the mail was perhaps sent to the wrong base. They were fine.

One day in February, Arthur was sitting across from Antonio at a table with a clipboard in hand. "So, you want to talk more about where you're from?" Arthur tried. Antonio could yap away nonsense stories about tomatoes or guitars but somehow managed to keep most of his personal life a mystery.

"Spain!" Antonio smiled, pulling at his bandages.

"Stop tugging at that," Arthur scolded, "and I know you're from Spain. I'm talking about what you've been up to more recently."

"I've been in this hospital, talking to you!"

"Yes, I _know_." Arthur sighed exasperatedly. "But what about before you sustained those wounds? How did you get them?"

"I was hurt."

"How were you hurt?"

"In the head and arm and the—"

Arthur held his head. "Look, I've already tried to contact Spanish representatives to tell them we have you in England, but they don't have any records of an 'Antonio' missing in action. You had on a Spanish military uniform without any identifying features when we found you. You were nearly dead. You would have died if we hadn't found you when we did! So…what's your story?"

Antonio grinned sneakily. He just watched Arthur with an amused expression, now tugging at the bandages around his forehead. "You know what I like to do on cloudy days?"

"It's always cloudy here," Arthur grumbled.

Antonio laughed. "You remind me of Romano."

Arthur got an idea. "You know you speak an awful lot about this 'Romano' fellow. Are you related? Brothers, perhaps?"

Antonio went silent again, a playful smile on his face.

Arthur huffed, too frustrated to continue on. "Never mind. We'll talk tomorrow."

Antonio saluted him with a big smile and left. Arthur couldn't help but feel like he was being played with. Antonio knew exactly what he was doing.

He decided to call it a night and go back to his barracks. Just as he went to go back, a bunch of doctors ran in front of him, pushing a patient on a gurney. Arthur stopped cold. He felt a sharp icy pang at his gut.

He turned to watch the team of doctors busying over the soldier. Arthur couldn't tell what kind of uniform he was wearing but it looked…it looked like…

"No," Arthur gasped. He took a frozen step forward. "No."

"Dr. Kirkland!" a nurse called. "A group of new soldiers just arrived. Several in critical condition. We need to…Dr. Kirkland? Dr. Kirkland!"

Arthur was no longer listening. He was chasing after the team of doctors. He rounded the corner, ducking into a large room, and felt his stomach drop. He grabbed onto the frame of the door and gasped. "Mattie!"

Matthew Williams was barely recognizable. His face was swollen and covered in blood and glasses missing. The other doctors were blocking Arthur's view of the rest of his body.

"Dr. Kirkland, are you okay?" a voice that sounded far away floated over. Arthur barely heard it. He felt weak at the knees. Suddenly, the floor rushed up to greet him.

* * *

**Laaate! But I definitely plan on fixing that! Thanks for reading, and now the story will really pick up. A lot of this is just flowery prologue stuff and I apologize! Also, just in case, I'll put the translations to the Spanish phrases here:  
**

_**De una vez - At once!  
Lo siento - I'm sorry  
Vale - Okay**_

**Thanks again and hope you like the story thus far! :3 -N**


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